


Maybe I Will Be Ok

by ninhursag



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alex Manes Has Issues, Angst, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mental Instability, Michael Guerin Has Issues, Past Child Abuse, Relationship Discussions, Remix, Self-Destruction, Unreliable Narrator, With A Twist, vivisection (discussed)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:34:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22308739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/pseuds/ninhursag
Summary: Michael believes Alex is working with his father to destroy him. But he had always known someone was going to destroy him, so it might as well be Alex.Alex has his own ideas.Goes AU at 1x3.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 45
Kudos: 199
Collections: RNM Fanfic Remix 2020





	Maybe I Will Be Ok

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BeStillMySlashyHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeStillMySlashyHeart/gifts).
  * Inspired by [It's going to be okay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17926064) by [BeStillMySlashyHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeStillMySlashyHeart/pseuds/BeStillMySlashyHeart). 



> This is a remix of bestillmyslashyheart's lovely story, "It's going to be ok". Michael finds evidence that he believes means Alex is working against him. He confronts him and the truth comes out.
> 
> But in this story, he doesn't. He just believes.
> 
> I wondered at the horror of the premise. Michael believes that Alex could do this and he does NOT confront him. Why not?
> 
> This story would not exist without violettavalery, who came up with the initial premise and was kind enough to let me run with it my own direction, Lambourn, who listened patiently and gave me all of the pushing and handholding, and haloud, who was nice enough to do a rapid beta to help me figure out what it needed. 
> 
> You guys ❤️❤️❤️!

It began not long after Alex came back from Iraq, down a leg and with something new thrumming in his blood. It had been ten years since Alex had left, and Michael didn’t expect this time to be any different than any other time he came and went even when slowly, slowly, hours stretched into days, into nights, into weeks, adding on time and Alex wasn’t gone yet.

“You stayed,” Michael whispered to him on a bright morning, wondering, tender, and Alex touched his mouth with his bare, beautiful fingers. But it wasn’t an expectation that Alex would keep staying. It was a secret, shadowy thing between them. 

And then the inflection point, that night at the drive-in, in front of the town and Alex’s fuck-face of a father, when Alex settled himself on the tailgate of Michael’s truck with his sixer and a careful smile, not quite staking a claim.

“Wanna go for a ride?” Michael asked him, after, mouth curling in hope he didn’t want to feel but couldn’t turn off. He made his words all invitation, spreading his legs like an offer. Alex’s eyes were narrow when he took Michael in and he opened his mouth. Closed it. 

Looked back over to where Jesse Manes was watching like a demon extra in a horror movie. And then Alex squared his shoulders, met those gimlet eyes and turned back to Michael. His expression was set, decisive and inarguable. Whatever he was going to do next, there’d be no moving him.

Michael held his breath, but he knew how this was going to go and he was already steeling himself. And then, Alex did the other thing. 

“Yeah,” Alex said, stepping in closer. “Let’s get out of here.”

He stayed over more often after that, all the time, almost every night, inexplicable and so welcome. His dark eyes on Michael, wary and hungry. And Michael waited and waited and waited for the catch, the other shoe, the cosmic fucking hammer, because this was not the way their story went.

He found it in the files when he was checking the oil on Alex’s car. His own mistake-- he’d decided to check in the trunk to make sure the spare tire was in good shape. His first, most vivid fear when he understood what he was looking at, exactly, the reason why Alex was still there with him, was that he'd see Max or Isobel’s face in them. He relaxed a little when he didn't, when it was just his face in an official looking file folder, in Alex’s laptop bag. It didn't mean they were safe, but at least their fates weren't sealed. He could try to figure something out.

He didn’t ask why the thing was right there, so easy to find in the end. Alex must have wanted him to know for some reason. He didn’t want to ask.

There it was, in black and white and government ink, Michael Guerin wasn’t human, was a monster.

It was hard to think too much about anything else with that picture in his head. Seeing it in type like that, his face there like that, let that old choking terror creep into control. It has always been there, from the first time he's snuck into the day room at one of his group homes in Albuquerque and a couple of the older kids were watching alien autopsy on a bulky old TV with a grainy screen.

In his dreams he was usually the one on the table, cold metal on bare skin. Sometimes he was drugged, his eyes open so he could see everything, feel everything, but unable to move, trapped in his own skin while they peeled him apart. 

Other times, especially later when his nightmares were constructed from more memories and experience of what could happen to him, it was a straitjacket and cuffs, keeping him immobilized but screaming. Like they had used when they'd exorcised him, but it was a scalpel and a saw in his dreams, not a red hot cross and a bucket of ice cold water to force his face into.

“You’re a monster,” they told him while the bonesaw whined and he screamed. “You deserve this.” 

When his subconscious was giving him a break he was already dead when they started to take him apart, watching his body from somewhere else.

Slab of meat, stiff and gone as rigor set in, ready for the knives and saws. At least it was just noise then. After he found Max and Isobel again, it got worse, mostly because sometimes he dreamed it was happening to them. They weren't monsters, he'd beg, they'd been picked, loved, chosen. They didn't deserve this.

When he played his guitar everything went quiet and he didn't have the dreams. Later, sometimes, rarely, when Alex Manes was in his bed or in his arms, he didn't have the dreams. He was picked, chosen, too, by someone. Otherwise, there was a nightmare rotation, and they were a feature. 

"This is how it ends," a cold voice booming in his head while they cut into him. After, after Alex, after the shed, after his hand was fucked beyond recognition, he even knew whose voice it was, Master Sergeant Jesse Manes, starring in his nightmares.

But when he found the files in Alex's laptop bag, with his face on them, his stats on them, fucking surveillance photos, he understood for sure that it was real, not just some nightmare his brain had conjured up. No more question. This was going to happen.

"Not Alex," he begged in his dreams, on his knees. But it made sense. Why the hell was someone like Alex even near him, why would he stay? This made it all make sense, finally fit all the pieces into place.

Alex knew, Alex was back here in Roswell because he knew, he was in Michael's bed, kissing his way down the knobs of Michael's spine, quiet and careful, because he knew. And this would end with Michael in a cage, on a slab, and Jesse Manes' cold, calm voice.

Knowing the truth made it a waiting game. Alex's body curled warm and tight with his, asleep and soft, while Michael was awake and waiting. Would they come at night, would Alex step aside and let them or would he help them do it, his gun shoved in the small of Michael's back? His voice, low and rough, telling Michael not to fight. 

Would it be while they were out drinking, Alex guiding him over to a van with blacked out windows and telling him to get in? 

Would it be while he was asleep, a needle slid quietly into the crook of his elbow or his neck and then waking up in a cell or already on the table?

He already knew he wouldn't fight the inevitable. It was going to happen sometime, wasn’t it? And if it was Alex, what was the point of pushing back? Alex bound him to the Earth with those cool, strong human hands, he was Alex’s to destroy. 

Knowing that Alex knew just made Michael hold on hard instead, when Alex was there. Touched the beautiful, sharp lines of his face, kissed the smooth and rough parts of his skin. Ran his hands over mussed dark hair that was the softest part of Alex.

Waited quietly, not saying anything when Alex took mysterious calls over dinner, watched the way that spot between his eyebrows wrinkled and tensed when he stood up abruptly and stalked out of the room.

"Sorry," he'd say later, with a tired attempt at a smile. "Work call. Thanks for-- I know this sucks." And Michael would nod, like he understood. Like he didn't hear the echo from out in the yard, something about a project. Something about 'dad'.

It wasn't that he thought if he was just good enough, Alex would change his mind. You didn't change your mind about monsters, Michael understood that to his bones. But he wanted to be remembered, if he could just make this good, sweet, he wanted what was left of him to be something that someone, that Alex would think about and-- maybe he’d stay when they did it and hold Michael’s hand so it would be more than screaming.

And Alex smiled at him, all white teeth and bright eyes and said things like, "hey, could you pass the ketchup?" 

Or, "hey, come here you have something on your chin," and then he'd run one of his steady, perfect fingers over whatever it was and lick it off them and smile, smile, smile. 

Or, “hey,” just that, and a kiss, warm and tender and claiming. 

And Alex would talk to him sometimes when it was dark and quiet, just the hum of the generator and their voices, hands on hands. About Basra or the people he'd met in Mosul, a translator, a journalist, the guys in his squad, some Australian special forces guy with a shit attitude who always had a line on the best booze. Once, hushed, about the IED that had taken him out, waking up concussed and bleeding out, staring at what used to be his leg. It made the missing time, the alone years feel real.

A few times, haltingly, about his father. Enough to rock Michael, who'd known exactly how cruel people could be to children that weren't theirs, someone else's eggs in their nest, but Alex was a real child, not a throw away. 

Michael held Alex if he was allowed to when it got bad, if it wasn't too much, keeping his hands careful and his touch as steady and real as it needed to be. Bustled to get him coffee or water or a beer. Made a stupid joke to break the mood or sat quietly, just listening. Shoulders pressed together. The stillness of it calmed and settled him, warmed him through.

And Alex would talk to him when it was light out, about music and bad art and hitching a ride with Maria and Rosa they were sixteen to see some band in someone's garage and Michael smiled and talked back like he deserved to.

And Alex would work late, quickly shut his laptop if he heard Michael's footsteps coming in behind him. Michael could have used a bare hint of power to make the laptop stick, stay open just long enough for him to get a look, but he didn't.

He knew enough.

They did not talk about the files in Alex's laptop bag even if Alex had to know, had to have realized Michael had been in his trunk. It wasn’t like he’d tried to cover his tracks.

"It's ok," Michael told him once, on his knees between Alex's spread legs. His voice was hoarse from swallowing Alex's cock, taking it in deep, and his body and throat hummed with satisfaction. Down and down until he was all claimed territory, hot strong hands still tangled in his hair.

"Better than ok," Alex hissed. His own pink, pretty mouth still hanging open, parted and sweet. Still taking gasping breaths, muscles loose with pleasure. "Jesus, Guerin, you're going to ruin me."

And Michael smiled up at him, brilliant and relieved. "It's my superpower," he said. "Michael 'Jesus' Guerin, ruiner."

Alex's laughter was perfect and he tugged Michael up for a kiss.

Was it going to be tonight? In the morning? When?

The nightmares stayed away for a while, a month, before he finally woke up screaming with Alex kneeling next to him, talking softly and not touching, so careful of him like he always was. Alex knew from nightmares.

"Could you just give me a hint?" Michael begged, because he was sleep stupid and shaking, cheeks wet, the memory of the whine of the saw and Alex’s dark eyes consuming. "I know you don't have to, but if you just let me know when, I swear I won't do anything."

"When what?" Alex voice was unsteady, worried, a hint of a crack in it. Didn't he know by now he didn't have to worry?

"You have to know I saw the files you had on me," Michael said. Alex wasn't stupid, he wasn't careless. None of this was a secret, right? Alex knew he was a monster, Alex knew that Michael knew. This was all an open to the public horror show. 

Alex swallowed visibly, throat bobbing and he nodded. "Yeah. I've been waiting for you to ask me. I guess I never expected you to just… just trust me for this long." His face, his smile. He looked so amazed right then, wondering, his dark eyes wide and liquid. The long, perfect line of his neck, like he was so proud of how good Michael was being about this. It was worth it then, right?

Michael smiled back at him, helpless, caught, like always, Alex was so fucking beautiful, always. "I mean, of course. Someone's going to do it, and it may as well be you."

There was a pause. Alex reached for him, carefully, carefully. The light in his eyes fading a little, to caution, lower lip sucked in. He was quiet, seemed to be turning words over in his head before he spoke. "Someone's going to do… what is someone going to do?"

Michael shrugged and forced himself not to flinch back when Alex’s fingers found his. This was Alex's touch, he still wanted it, no matter what, let their hands curl together no matter what. "I mean. We've all seen how alien autopsy ends. It's curtains for the alien, right? And I know you’ve been working with your dad, so… I get it, you know?"

And that was when he realized he was a dumbass who should have kept his stupid mouth glued the fuck shut, holy shit, because the look on Alex's face, the way he went white, stark and stricken. 

"Guerin, what? What-- what is that you think you get?" He stammered, dropping back, dropping Michael’s hand like it had burned him. Hand to his mouth.

"It's ok, it's ok, I told you, it's going to be-- I'm glad it's going to be you," Michael said, fast, the words shoving out of him, trying to get that look to go away. “I just-- you’ll be there, right? It won’t just be him, or some scientists, will it?”

“What the hell, that isn’t funny,” Alex hissed, horror fading a little to anger, head shaking. “Don’t fucking joke about this.”

“I’m not?” Michael replied, his own head shaking in confusion. “Why would I? Look, I’m sorry I brought it up, we don’t have to talk about this. You don’t have to do anything.”

“You. Aren’t joking?” Alex’s voice, his tone. The wall of some inexplicable emotion on his face.

Michael just stared at him.

Alex swallowed air, still shaking. Hard, teeth rattling. “Am I missing something, or did you seriously just tell me that you think I’ve been in your bed, biding my time, waiting to turn you over to my fucking father? What the actual fuck, we don’t have to talk about that?”

“I--” Michael started, his mouth still open. Then closed. He took a breath, while Alex glared at him, beautiful in his anger. “I-- yes?”

“And you thought this and you decided, oh, hey, I’ll just keep fucking my homicidal, ready to have me tortured to death boyfriend until he stabs me in the back with a tranq, shoves me into the back of an unmarked car and ships me off to be disected, that’s a great idea?”

“Um.” Michael stared at him and Alex stared back. “Boyfriend?”

“You’re supposed to say no, I did not do that, Alex, what the hell, that would be completely fucking insane,” Alex prompted, getting louder and more frantic himself with every word. “It would be good if you added in, no, Alex, I don’t think you’re literally psychotic and manipulative and would-- would-- would ever-- what-- why would I do that to you? To. To anyone? But to you?”

That made Michael jump and shake his head. “You’re not! I don’t think you’re psychotic or manipulative… or homicidal. You’re a good person.”

“Thanks,” Alex’s tone had gone from frantic to dry as dust in a few deep breaths. He squeezed his eyes closed and let them open. “It’s great that I’m the good guy who is going to horrifically destroy you.”

“I mean, it’s not like I don’t deserve it. You can see that in the file you have," Michael heard himself point out.

“I know there’s a killer out there,” Alex said quietly, shaking his head again. “And I know it’s not you, I know you. Or I thought I did. What is it that you think is so bad it would convince me that-- that I should be in your bed, with you, and. And. And planning on doing that to you?”

Michael frowned, looked down at his hands, the fucked up one and the normal one. “What do you mean? You knew I wasn’t-- that I’m not human. I’m an alien, Alex. I crash landed on this planet and hatched out of a pod. You know that.”

“Yeah, I knew all of that. I had no idea that you were this-- this--” Alex couldn’t seem to get a different word out. 

“Fucked up?” Michael tried.

“Yeah, that covers it.” Alex took a deep, slow breath, then another one, and a third. “I’m not even sure where to start, just-- first, I’m not hunting you for fuck’s sake. I swear, I’m not. I’m hunting my dad. The operation he’s running is illegal and unsanctioned, he’s running it off the books and with family money.”

Michael frowned. “Ok?” he started. That was new.

Alex looked at him, careful and steady, still obviously working on his breathing. His hands were loose and open in front of him for a moment, then they clenched and unclenched out of fists, like he was trying hard to keep it together. Michael should have felt wary of the anger, but it just washed over him, swallowed by confusion. 

And Alex said, carefully, very slowly, so obviously picking through words, “I didn’t know you were not, not human, until I started tracking what he was doing. I didn’t know you were involved in any of this. And when I found out, it didn’t-- I mean, I get it. It’s a lot, but I know you. My. My feelings haven’t changed, ok? You’re still the kid I grew up with, still, still Michael.” 

Michael swallowed, trying to make sense of any of that. “I don’t understand. Are you saying it’s not the real government so you don’t want to--”

Alex’s fists clenched again, so quickly Michael wanted to reach out to soothe him as if he weren’t the problem. “No, jesus, I don’t care if it’s the fucking president in all his fucked up orange glory. I’m not going to let anyone touch you. And I don’t know how to handle the fact you think I would.”

Alex's anger had it its own shape and weight, heavy and painful, but maybe this was where things slid back onto their usual course, the one they’d slipped off of after the drive-in. Michael steadied himself to ask, "should I leave, give you space, I--"

Alex glared at him a little harder and gave a sharp shake of negation that was honestly a relief. "Are you kidding me now? You clearly can't be trusted not to-- I mean, is it just me you'd let-- if someone tried to hurt you, you'd defend yourself?"

Michael blinked at him. “I’m not sure what you're asking, but you know I can throw a punch,” he said.

Alex took another deep, shuddering breath. “Ok, ok, let me think. This is a problem for me, ok, Guerin. You understand I can’t have this?”

“Yes?” Michael offered, meaning no.

Alex looked him right in the eyes and then nodded to himself as if he’d hit on a solution. “You’re my weak point and he knows that. I can’t have you running around like this and you’re telling me you'd come with me anywhere I said to go, right?”

“Ok?” Another blank shrug, which Alex responded to with a firm, steady nod.

Alex’s voice leveled out and his body language got steadier. Calmer, shoulders loosening. “Ok, ok, fine, I’ve got this. What stuff do you need from here?”

“What?”

“You can’t stay here, pack a bag with whatever you need or like, you’re coming with me.”

Michael sputtered when the full implication of what Alex was saying hit him. “I work here. I have a job here. I can’t just go somewhere with you.”

Alex snorted a laugh without any humor in it. “You could if you were going to be alien autopsied, apparently, so fuck that.”

“Well if I’m not going to be, I still need money.” There, that sounded reasonable.

Alex paused for a moment, sighed and then nodded to himself. Michael figured that was the end of that, but instead the next words out of his mouth were, "I hear you. I’ll take you down to the county clerk’s office and marry you first, ok?”

Marry? The hell? Michael was the one staring blankly. “What? Why, that makes no sense?”

Alex still had that steady Captain Manes thing going on and he just looked at Michael like he was on the side of logic and reason when he was clearly not. “So you get my survivor’s benefits if I die. Which, by the way, I’m not planning to do you goddamn-- I don't even know what to call it. Just in case.”

“I’ll still need a job and money if you don’t die,” Michael pointed out.

“Let me worry about that.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, the fucked up one. "I'm not gonna be your kept space alien, Manes."

"You're going to be my alive space alien, Guerin. I can’t believe you and I can’t trust you anymore." Alex finally stopped glaring at him and started gathering up possessions into a duffle bag while he was talking. Mostly books and papers, some clothes. He wandered over for a toothbrush.

Michael tried to protest again, but was met with a steady, relentless glare when he got closer. He persisted. “I don’t understand why you’re suddenly worried about this now. I'm twenty-eight, give or take, and I haven’t killed myself yet.”

“Dumb fucking luck is not precedent setting,” Alex said, with a real hiss in his voice. “Come on, get your wallet. Do you have your social security card somewhere?” 

“What?”

“We need it to get the marriage license,” Alex said. “I’m calling Tamara at the clerk’s office to make sure they’re open, so just go find it, ok?” 

“You’re not serious about that. This isn’t funny.”

Alex raised both his hands in angry protest. “Do not test me, holy shit. Do not fuck with me. You’ve thought for more than a month that I was going to turn on you, you thought I was going to turn you over to my fucking father, and instead of running the hell away from me like a sane person, or you know, checking with me about it, you stayed in my fucking bed and waited to be taken away, you absolute idiot. I cannot trust you.” 

“How does marrying me help?”

Alex paused and gave him another long, careful once over what Michael didn't understand. “Do you not want to marry me?”

Michael frowned. Bit his lip and shook his head. “I-- yeah? I do?” 

“Then find your social security card, ok?”

"You are the most romantic motherfucker I have ever met," Michael muttered through his teeth. He went through his small tin lockbock and came out with his passport, the one he’d only bothered to get on the off chance Alex would ever need him when he was abroad, and his stupid social security card.

“I’ll buy you flowers for your bouquet later,” Alex replied shortly as he continued to carefully put Michael’s books in a bag. Michael thought about mentioning his research down in the bunker, but there was no way to transport it safely in daylight. They’d have to figure that one out later.

Alex had this look of profound irritation that would have worried Michael if it wasn't so obviously meshed with relief as he loaded Michael's things into the back of his car.

"Do you have a timeframe for this?" Michael asked. "Should I bring my truck?"

That got him raised eyebrows and a shrug. "I'll bring it back for you, later," Alex finally said. Michael nodded and let it go. 

*

Tamara at the clerk’s office stared at them like she’d never seen either of them before, instead of like someone who’d been two years ahead of them in highschool and knew all about them. Separately, at least. Michael could see how the together part might throw her.

She looked from Alex, all sharp faced and compressed mouth to whatever she was seeing in Michael's expression. Probably confusion, he had no idea.

"So, you guys need a marriage license," she said, as if checking in to make sure they hadn't meant hunting license or something.

Alex raised his dark, fine eyebrows. Michael shrugged. They looked at each other. Alex’s mouth softened just a little.

"Do you need a list of officiants?" Tamara continued. 

"Yeah," Michael said, finding that he was smiling, mouth stretching into it. Alex was too, his lips lovely in a curve. This was ridiculous. Michael felt weird, dizzy and unmoored of expectation. Alex could still be taking him somewhere with scalpels and syringes and saws but this seemed like a lot of effort for what he could have had for free and Michael was going on this ride figuring that wasn't the destination.

The officiant was some guy in the back office who Michael remembered vaguely from playing pool at the Wild Pony. He slapped Alex on the back with only a mutter of, “watch out for that one, he gets around,” and gave Michael a funny look, probably because he didn’t know he was into dick. But, otherwise he was cool. 

They didn't say much to each other. No prepared vows. Alex looked at him after, in the car when he was buckled in and gave a half smile of satisfaction. Just considering Michael with that steady gaze of his. 

"I can't lose you," Alex finally said, later, looking straight ahead as he drove, eyes fixed on the road. He was still handsome in profile, serious and still. “You understand that, right? I watched you throw yourself away when we were seventeen and that was the most terrifying thing I can remember and I’ve been to war.” 

“I don’t want to be lost,” Michael said back, since this was the part where they were saying things. “But I also don’t want you to go back to war. I want you to be here, where I am.”

And Alex still looked straight ahead, like he was thinking on that one and wasn’t sure where he stood.

They drove out to the old Valenti cabin, the one that Alex had mentioned off hand the old sheriff had left him in his will. Michael followed behind Alex carrying the duffle bag with his stuff. 

*

In the bed that night, shaky from orgasm with his hands held over his head by Alex’s tight grip braceleting his wrists, and his eyes open, he listened when Alex said, "tell me. From the beginning, please." It was a little like the straightjacket, like a cage, but different. Better. Caged by warm, solid flesh and muscle and bone. Kept. Kept by Alex who was his.

And Michael talked. "It's not you," he said, first, because he had never meant to hurt Alex. "It's just, it's what is going to happen."

"What is?" Alex asked him, with the steady quiet he had, as though he weren’t shaking from the sex himself. His self control was terrifying, like some kind of inert bond, still and solid to the depths of the universe. 

“Death. Getting caught, and getting caged and dying. Entropy, chaos. Whatever you want to call it. I always was going to-- it’s what happens to--” Michael stopped, shaking his head.

“To whom?” Alex pressed.

“To what,” Michael replied. “Like. Overdetermination, multiple roads leading to the same place. I mean, if you start with a monster and you add a good person. Like-- like you--”

“Stop,” Alex said. “I’m challenging that. You’re not. And honestly, I’m not.” 

“You’re not a monster,” Michael said, challenging right back. Alex’s bad knee, remnant of leg was pressed between Michael's, but his good knee still had leverage and he was strong. He couldn’t be thrown off, not without Michael using powers to tear through the bonds between them. He didn’t.

Alex laughed. “How many people are dead at your hands, Michael? Tell the truth, I know you want to.”

“I,” Michael began and then stopped. “You can’t-- that doesn’t matter. Multiple causes and pathways lead to this. I’m not a person at all, Alex. I remember they put me in a straitjacket and tied my hands and they told me. They told me the wrong is-- it's inside me.”

"What?" Alex said, dark and blank and terrible. Beautiful as something carved in wood and ivory. "Who did that?"

Michael frowned. Eyes wide, was this a secret, something that hadn't been known? Didn't Alex strip away all of his secrets?

At least this one wasn't-- it was just a thing that happened. "One of the group homes I was in was run by crazy fundamentalists. I wasn't that good at controlling my powers yet. They could smell it on me, you know?"

"Smell what exactly?" The anger was back, blisteringly cold, liquid nitrogen spilling out of its canister.

Michael gave as much of a shrug as he could. "That there was something wrong with me. They just thought it was something they could exorcise out. So-- you know, just pull out the kinky restraints and red hot crosses and say your Hail Marys and I'm clean and normal. But you can't, it's inherent."

Alex shook. Shuddered. His eyes squeezed shut. His hands tightened enough to bruise Michael's wrists. Enough to leave a ring of reddened skin in the shape of slim, strong hands. 

“Guerin. Michael. Do you know what my answer is? To how many dead people?” he whispered. “I don’t know. A lot. But I’d add on whoever _they_ is. Tell me again, who’s the monster?”

“You’re a good person, Alex,” Michael said. Because that much was obvious. 

Alex’s mouth stretched, showing his teeth. “I’m the person that’s going to protect you. You belong to me, I have a piece of paper to prove it. He can’t take you from me again. You-- you can't take you away from me.” 

“Ok,” Michael said, because he didn’t know how to argue with that. “I trust you.”

Alex laughed, brilliant and sharp. “You don’t. At all. You just don't care because you think you deserve to die.”

Michael rolled his eyes. “I love you,” he tried instead. “I need you. You-- you’re necessary to me. I'd pay any price.” Pushed the thoughts out as if anyone could hear them, true and sweet. Wishing he could imprint them on Alex’s skin like he could press bruises on him with his fingers. If he could just mark him, like Max could. So that he would know.

Alex stopped. Took a deep succession of breaths, his face gone pink and his eyes gone wide. “You won't have to, ok? I promise to stay with you,” he said. “No matter what comes next, even if… even if I'm saving you from yourself. You're necessary to me too.”

And Michael believed him.


End file.
